They had spent the evening wrapping the blossoms into a wreath for Alainna to wear the following day, and then they had made small dolls from dried rushes, meant to be figures of Saint Brighid, the reeds woven in patterns that would bring good fortune. Sebastien smiled as he remembered their laughter as they decorated the dolls.
Alainna walked sunwise around the inner side of the circle and bowed her head before each person, murmuring a question and holding out her hands for the gifts they gave her.
"We each give something to the Maiden, you see," Una whispered to Sebastien, standing beside him. "Alainna accepts as Brighid, and as the Maiden. Later she will lay the offerings at the foot of the pillar stone."
Sebastien nodded. Alainna had told him about the gifting the evening before, and he had thought about what to contribute, knowing that it should be simple and meaningful. He watched as Alainna accepted each offering graciously: an apple from Beitris, a handful of nuts from Aenghus, a horseshoe from Lulach, a birch wand from Niall, and one of rowan from Ruari.
One of the young squires followed her with a basket to hold the things: a red thread, knotted and charmed, from Morag, a few carrots from Donal, a folded plaid from Esa, a white, polished stone from Giric.
Even the knights, a few of whom had remained after Robert and others had departed three days earlier, seemed to know what to do, Sebastien noticed. Richard gave her a silver coin and Etienne a handful of snowdrops to match those in her hair, and the other two, Walter and William, offered her pretty stones.
Then Alainna stood in front of Sebastien. She smiled up at him. "What will you give the Maiden?" she asked, as she had asked each one before him.
He reached out and took her chin in his hand, tipping her face toward him, and leaned down. He kissed her, gentle and lingering, on the lips. "My heart," he whispered, "to keep forever."
She looked at him in silence, her eyes blue and deep and filled with love. A pleased murmur ran through the circle of those who watched. Alainna smiled and moved past him. Una gave her a handful of oats tied in a cloth, and Lome handed her a shining smoky crystal.
When she had circuited the group, she led the way toward the gate, which stood open. They followed in a procession, with the women behind her and the men after them, Sebastien, Lome, and Giric falling naturally into the lead.
Light glistened on the surface of the loch, and the waves drifted to shore in a slow cadence. They walked past the end of the loch and approached its opposite bank.
The gray granite pillar of the Stone Maiden stood tall and silvery in the early sunlight, as if polished for this day. Alainna approached the pillar, and the rest of them formed a wide ring around it. Sebastien watched as Alainna went, with the slender young squire behind her, to lay the offerings at the foot of the pillar. Then the squire ran back to join his comrades, and Alainna faced the great stone, chisel and mallet in her hand.
She circled sunwise around the stone, and Sebastien heard her voice lift in a softly chanted list of names.
"She recites the genealogy of Saint Brighid," Una told Sebastien as he leaned down toward the old woman. "Then she will say the genealogy of Alainna of Kinlochan, the maiden caught within the stone. Now, hear, she offers a charm to Brighid, and to the Maiden who protects this clan."
Alainna stepped around to face the stone, head lifted. "Brighid of the mantles, Mary mild, and Alainna the Maiden, the nine pure graces are yours, gifts of the angels who shield us always." She bowed her head as if waiting, then continued.
Be the bright flame before us
Be the guiding star above us
Be the smooth path beneath us
Today, tonight, and forever.
She knelt and smoothed her hand over the row of lines engraved in the stone like the embroidered hem of a gown. Angling the chisel at the end of the row, she struck the tool with the mallet, and struck again, until another mark appeared in the face of the stone. Once more she swept her hand over the granite, as if to soothe the wound. Then she rose to her feet and turned, bathed in a stream of thin sunlight.
"We thank the faeries who protected our Maiden, and we thank Alainna the Maiden for watching over her people. The spell is ended," she said. "The Maiden is free."
The circle of people stood quietly, as if waiting. Alainna stood like a slim, beautiful pillar herself, while the breeze sifted through the bright strands of her hair.
Sebastien could not take his gaze from her. He caught his breath inwardly as a subtle, powerful force moved through him. He felt as if the last stone in the wall surrounding his heart shifted and fell away. Alainna turned her head and her gaze touched his, and he held it gently, knowing that she was part of him, and he of her.
He knew, too, that he must leave her soon, as they had implicitly agreed he would do. Spring had come, and the time-between-times was ended, and decisions must be made.
He had a young son, alone and small, who needed him more than this strong, beautiful woman needed him, more than these proud, loving people needed him. His going would break the bond of their handfasting, and break his heart and hers, he knew, but he had to leave.
He desperately wanted to return to her, but one decision remained. Although he told himself that the issue of the name did not matter, he was not able to abandon his name and his identity so easily. His pride was still strong in what he had gained for himself, in who he was.
Loving Alainna had challenged every part of him, down to the bedrock of his soul. But carving a new identity for himself was not so easily done.
He saw a haunting sadness in her eyes as she looked at him. Then she walked away from the stone and through the circle, and the people turned to follow her. Sebastien fell into step with Lome and Ruari, and glanced up at the hills surrounding the loch.
He halted and held up a hand to the men closest to him. Ruari, Lome, and Giric stopped. "We are not the only ones who have come to see the last mark made in the Stone Maiden," he said. "Look."
At the top of a long hill that overlooked the loch, a host of men stood, plaids and braids blowing in the breeze. Cormac, his brother, Struan, and nearly forty MacNechtans watched them, still and menacing. Then they began to walk down the hill.
The MacNechtans had no women among them, as Clan Laren did, Sebastien noted; they had not come to watch the ceremony. Armed, grim, and glaring, they were prepared for battle.
Near Sebastien, the others turned, and gasps rippled among them. The small gathering parted as Alainna walked past them to meet the MacNechtans.
Reaching out, Sebastien took Alainna's arm. "Be wary," he said. "They do not come here seeking peace."
"They might," she said. "The chief of Clan Laren and the chief of Clan Nechtan have always met on the day of the marking of the Maiden. It is part of the tradition. Truces have been declared then, and our clans have had periods of peace in the past. This is the day the old spell ends. It is the right time to begin a new era for our clans."
"That may be the tradition, but you cannot trust this man," he said. "Alainna, stay back. It is not safe for you to do this. Let me negotiate with him."
"You," she said, "have no interest in negotiating with him."
He frowned. She turned, and he strode beside her as she went toward the MacNechtans, who halted at the foot of the hill. Alainna paused, facing Cormac in the open middle area.
Sebastien stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword, a silent and alert guard. Cormac glowered at him. Sebastien returned a flat, even stare.
"Cormac MacNechtan," Alainna said. "I ask you formally, before all, as is custom on the day of the marking of the stone, if you will agree to peace between us. The deaths of the Maiden and of the first Nechtan have been avenged over and over, to ten times a thousand. You and I can end this long and bitter and pointless feud, and put forth forgiveness."
"I do not ask your forgiveness," Cormac said brusquely. "I do not offer you mine. I came here to talk of more important matters than forgiveness."
"What, then?" Alainna asked.
"The power of the Stone Maiden has ended. I have long waited for this day. Your protection is at an end."
"Her protection continues," Sebastien said curtly.
Cormac laughed harshly. "A few knights sent by the king?"
"A husband," Sebastien drawled. He knew, with a powerful and certain conviction, that the vows he had taken with Alainna had bound him to her, and her to him. Nothing could undo that. His heart pounded hard as he faced Cormac, and as he felt Alainna's gaze, soft and wondering, upon him.
"Husband!" Cormac barked. "You!"
"I told you that I would choose," Alainna said quickly. "It is done. You cannot claim Kinlochan, or me."
Cormac's face flushed dark and his eyes glittered. "A husband is only a barrier so long as he is alive."
Sebastien tensed, ready to pull his weapon, but he stared calmly at Cormac. "You have no more dispute with these people. Take your men and go, or stay and fight me alone. Either way, you will never gain what you want here."
Cormac grinned slowly. "I have forty strong men at my back, and you have a handful of knights, with old men and old women."
"Would you fight elders?" Alainna asked, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Your father would never have done that, or his father and kinsmen before him."
"Tell the old ones to go home," Cormac said curtly. "I will not fight them. My dispute is with the Norman, doubly so now that he has taken my rightful place as your husband." He looked at Sebastien with narrowed eyes. "And I see you found Ruari MacWilliam. I came here to escort him to the crown myself, since you neglected to do it."
"MacWilliam is no threat to the crown," Sebastien said.
Cormac looked at Alainna. "You are the chief here, not this one. Your kinsman Ruari is a traitor. Will you witness a battle now, in front of your Stone Maiden, or will you order MacWilliam to come with me and face king's justice?"
"Ruari is no traitor," Alainna said. "He will stay here."
"Fine," Cormac bit out. "I will see all of your kinsmen killed this day, and your husband, too. This can only gain me what I want. Else give me the traitor, and avoid the bloodshed. Decide, girl!" he ordered. He grabbed the handle of his dirk. Behind him, his men stepped forward.
Sebastien slithered his sword free with the swift whooshing sound of steel drawn from leather. "Tell your men to stand down. This is between you and me, and no one else. Alainna, get back," he warned.
She turned. Sebastien watched with a sense of slowed time as she whirled, and her hair spun out behind her.
Quick as a snake's strike, Cormac leaned forward and snatched a handful of her abundant hair. He yanked her toward him so fast that she cried out and stumbled backward. In that flashing instant, Sebastien had no chance to grab her or to use his sword before Cormac swooped his long dirk blade under her chin.
She was within arm's grasp, but the steel edge at her throat changed all. Sebastien could not pull her back at the risk of her life. Cormac held her in a fierce grip and glared at him over the top of her head.
"Now," he said, "I will have what I want."
"Let her go," Sebastien rasped, waving his sword lightly, menacingly, in the air. "Your dispute is with me, not her."
"Tell the elders to get back," Cormac hissed.
Behind Sebastien, every man had stepped forward, Lome, Ruari, and Giric in the lead. Sebastien held up a hand in command, and they halted.
Alainna pulled at Cormac's arm. "Let me go," she gasped.
"First I will get what I want of this," Cormac said. "MacWilliam! Put yourself into the custody of my brother, Struan. We will ride to Dunfermline today."
Sebastien put up a hand toward Ruari. "Do not," he growled.
"Ruari, do not," Alainna echoed. She dragged on Cormac's arm, tight around her throat.
Lome came toward Cormac and faced him. "Let the girl go."
"She is my hostage and my prize," Cormac said.
"Listen, now," Lome said. "What Alainna said is right. The whole of your kinsmen, from your father to his father, to the great Aodh son of Conn, and back to Nechtan of the Battles, not one of them, fine men all, would do what you do today. Make them proud, and let her go."
"Be gone from here, bard," Cormac said. "You are no warrior to interfere in this. She is chief of her clan, and my hostage, and I want payment. Stand back."
"Cormac," Lorne said. "Remember what happened on the banks of this loch seven hundred years ago this day, so the legend goes. A man of Clan Nechtan harmed a woman of Clan Laren. Would you begin the feud again?"
Cormac gaped, then frowned. "There are no faeries here to curse us," he said, but Sebastien heard the doubt in his voice.
"There are," Lorne said. He moved closer, his voice deep and resonant. "They are always about, though we cannot see them. They watch us even now. Let the woman of Clan Laren go, and they will thank you. Hold her, and you will anger them, and endanger your clan for another seven hundred years."
Cormac stepped back, pulling Alainna with him. "The spell is ended for the Stone Maiden and for my clan!"
"Then why invite the curse again?" Lorne moved forward, still reaching out. "The magic is powerful, Cormac MacNechtan, and well you know it. Let her go now, and spare generations of your kin the sorrow of more feuding."
Cormac stared at him. Calmly, surely, Lorne took Alainna's hand. Sebastien tensed, ready to strike, and watched in amazement as Cormac loosened his grip. Alainna moved toward Lorne, hands outstretched.
Then Cormac bellowed a protest, as if realizing what he had done. He lunged to reclaim Alainna. She screamed and fell upon Lorne when Cormac leaped at her. Lorne turned with her, and Sebastien whirled, grabbing Alainna's arm to pull her out of the way. He stepped between her and Cormac.
In that instant, he saw Lorne crumple to his knees, his chest bright with blood, saw the glistening red tip of Cormac's dirk. Lorne fell forward, and Alainna cried out and dropped to her knees beside him.
Sebastien felt a deep, sudden wrench of anguish. He lunged toward Cormac, who stumbled backward.
"You!" Sebastien roared, pointing at Cormac with the tip of his extended sword. "You and I have a dispute, and no one else! Your men stay back, and my men stay back! We will settle this here and now!"
He strode in a sunwise circle around Cormac as he shouted. Anger surged through him like fire, like some dark magic, giving him a power and purpose and fury unlike anything he had ever felt before.
He tipped the blade to the earth and stood, feet planted apart, glowering at Cormac. "Here and now! A fair combat, without treachery, with no other lives put at risk!"
Chapter 30
"Here and now, then," Cormac answered, breath heaving. He glanced back at his kinsmen. Struan came forward with a claymore, which Cormac snatched by the great hilt. "Remove your armor, Norman. I have no such protection. A Highland man needs nothing but his claidheamh mor and his will."
With fast, furious movements, Sebastien unlatched the thongs that tied his chain mail hood to the hauberk, stripped off his plaid mantle, sword belt, and green surcoat, and flung them aside. Etienne and Giric came over to help him tug free of the heavy, long-sleeved chain mail hauberk and the padded gambeson beneath it. He rebuckled the sword belt over his brown serge tunic, feeling lighter, stronger, more capable.
As he turned to face Cormac, he saw Alainna kneeling beside Lorne. Una bent over her husband as Esa and Morag quickly bandaged Lome's chest.
Sebastien did not know if Lorne was alive or dead, but the wide, dark stain on the old man's shirt and the limp sag of his noble head alarmed him. His own heart nearly stopped then.
Alainna stared up at him, her face pale, her eyes filled with fear. He held her gaze steadily, then turned away.
Without a word, he led Cormac to the level, grassy turf that spread between the Stone Maiden and the stony beach. A crowd gathered in a wide circle around them, the pillar towering over all like a calm giantess.
Alainna remained with Lorne and the women. Once the ring of onlookers closed
up, Sebastien could no longer see her.
Cormac circled him, dragging the point of the claymore on the ground, his gaze dark and angry. Sebastien spun warily, his heartbeat strong in his own ears, his balance shifting from one foot to the other.
With a sudden roar, Cormac rushed toward him, lifting the huge sword over his head, slashing it downward. Easily sidestepping him, Sebastien turned while Cormac regained his balance and whirled to strike again. He could see from those wide, wild blows that Cormac's skill was less than the man's strength and his rage, which were considerable.
Sebastien caught the blade with his own steel edge, the impact jarring him. He shoved, then dipped low and skimmed sideways as Cormac brought the blade around to lash at him again.
Circling slowly, Sebastien noted that the Highlander was like a bull or a boar; large, fierce, determined, armed with a mighty weapon, he lacked finesse and cleverness. For all that, Cormac was not a fool. Sebastien saw the calculating look in his dark eyes.
The claymore had a longer reach than his own blade, and its heavier blows could do more damage to flesh and bone. Cormac wielded it with hacking strength, striking relentlessly. The one-handed, shorter broadsword gave Sebastien the advantage of a weapon that was easier to handle. He was leaner and more agile, better able to turn and dance away, continually avoiding the savage bite of the larger blade. That only made Cormac angrier, and increased the force and frequency of his blows.
The sound of steel ringing hard on steel was deafening, the slamming tremors along his arm and hand numbing, and the breath burned in his throat and lungs. Sebastien fought on, advancing, circling, lunging, blocking, as he had done so many times here.
He knew the ground around the Stone Maiden, knew its dips and runnels and rises. On more than one pass, he scarcely had to look to avoid a small tufted hollow in the earth that could have caught his foot. By instinct he kept his back to the sun where the morning light angled across the loch. Cormac repeatedly squinted as the light flared on the water, and Sebastien led him into that position again and again.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] Page 32